


Imagine that

by AlonzoTheEboy



Category: Riders Series - Veronica Rossi
Genre: Jode get drink, Jode regrets getting drink, Jode wants drink, Like a prequel to the main story, Like a villain, Not even trying to make this fit into the actual cannon, Recounts of events, Sam's just chillin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 17:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20343688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlonzoTheEboy/pseuds/AlonzoTheEboy
Summary: Jode gets drunk and recounts the night of the street race that took his life, and the cuff that brought him back, with a very intent listener.





	Imagine that

Do you know what it’s like to die? To be at the height of your life, and at a crossroads where everything can go right, or everything can go wrong, and you make the decision to throw everything away without even knowing it. Imagine, you’re at a party. You down eight beers and seven shots and can’t even stand up straight, yet when some random bloke pulls out their car keys to show off the signature Bugatti trademark, you decide to pull out your car keys, branded with Lykan.

It only took twenty seconds, and almost everyone had moved out into the street to see the race, your race.

It’s like out of any movie, pulling up to a point in the street, a beautiful woman in less clothes than she can afford takes to front. Right in between the revving engines of million dollar cars, she holds two cloth napkins from the party, holding them straight up. A moment's pause. Her arms swiftly shoot down, the back of my head thuds into my seat, everyone goes by in a haze, the only thing keeping up with me is the shiny Bugatti to my right. The street lights flicker in and out of my vision, becoming a soothing rhythm to my eyes, they drop for only a second, and we come up to a corner.

Mr. Bugatti hits the breaks, I don’t have the reflexes for it. I can only jerk the wheel as my vision becomes dizzy.

Who in their right mind wants their family to read their obituary, only for it to say that their cousin, their nephew, their _child_… died because they got fucked up on tequila and wrapped their car around a poll?

They always tell the family that the loved one died with no pain, but oh boy, was there pain. I could feel sixteen ribs snap, and my hip completely shatter while my head smashed into the windshield, before the force slammed it back into the seat. At that point I was gone, thankfully before i could feel the rest of my body collapse in on itself. The official conclusion of my death include a broken femur, both kneecaps obliterated, my left calf snapped in two pieces, both of my lungs collapsed, and my stomach ruptured. That’s not even going into detail, but I remember the details. You don’t get to read the very things that led to your body just calling it quits and forgetting it, you know?

For the few seconds I experienced death, it was just… nothing. I can’t even explain it. If the human language didn’t have a word to describe just everything not existing (nothing), then I just wouldn’t be able to tell you that, well… It was pretty much nothing.

While I got to experience nothing, the party guest and Mr. Bugatti got to see a light show apparently. Every light on the street went out, and the car looked like a lightning bug in heat. Not on fire, just buzzing a warm glow, and if you would believe it, lightning struck the car, and that’s what set me off into thinking they were just pulling my leg about the whole thing and just wanted to teach me a lesson about drinking and driving. Even when I saw the twenty poor quality phone videos of the scene, I was skeptical. But let me tell you… you can’t fake the feeling of your hip shattering.  
The lights came on a few moments after the lightning and cops pulled up shortly after, along with a rescue team. Considering how rough they were with the car, I could tell they were expecting to pull out a dead body, and guess what? They did.

I had no pulse but was steaming hot thanks to the lightning. My clothes were burnt to a crisp material and almost every single piece of jewelry I was wearing that night, melted. The only piece that wasn’t liquid gold was a bracelet, more like a cuff, that was on my wrist. But the catch is that I have never worn this cuff, nor have I ever own this cuff and it was just there when I… I don’t know.

I was dead. The mangled corpse of a rich kid. A spoiled corpse is probably what they’d have called me if I stayed dead.  
Imagine this, they get me out check my pulse, which was nonexistent, put me on a stretcher, and don’t even bother to hook me to a machine since my legs sticking the wrong way and half my skull if just gone. I wish I could remember the look on the paramedics face when my hand starts twitching and I start rising like something straight out of the night of the living dead. Be in mind, my spines in half, and I just rise like it’s Sunday morning and I’m up for a cup of coffee, and I haven’t been dead for ten minutes!

“And you wanna know the funniest part about this entire ordeal?” I say, popping another peanut into my mouth. “Please, ask me when all of this happened.”

“When did all of this happen?”

I laugh, hitting the bar table with my fist. “Not even a week ago!” I cry. “Not even a week ago…” I say again.

I sniff, downing the rest of my beer. I shouldn’t be in a mile radius of a bar, but it’s the only thing that can distract me, and putting a bar within walking distance of my hotel is just dangling a piece of raw meat in front of a lion.

I look up to the clock on the bartenders counter. I’ve been here for an hour maybe, and twenty minutes ago, some poor tourist bloke from god knows where just happened to sit next to me at the bar and expected some light conversation. Not a fairy tale.

“Imagine this, right,” I continue after a few seconds. “You move out of your parents to go to Uni. They give you a car, they say congratulations, you’re on your own, you’re independent finally,” I stare at my empty glass as the foam slowly slides down. “And not even six months later, you wreck your car, and die.” I look up to the poor bloke who’s just been sitting there, listening to my rambles, probably not even understanding half of what I just said. “They won’t get me a replacement car, they just book me into the hotel within walking distance of my Uni, but lucky for me, my Uni is within walking distance of a bar, so they can’t take that away from me.”

“What if the bartender cuts you off?”

“Then I off myself!” I say. “Again!”

The man laughs at this. I can’t help but laugh too. When he quiets down, he looks me over, sliding his eyes over me before leaning on the bar slightly to get a better look of my right side. His eyes lock onto the thing I knew he’d look for. “Is that the cuff right there?”  
I put my right hand on the bar. I’ve been left handed for the past five days, not wanting to see the white cuff on my wrist that just won’t come off.

“What do you think?” I ask. He smiles at that, but still keeps his eyes on my wrist. “To be honest,” I start. “If you told me your name in the past twenty minutes, I’ve forgotten it, so please, tell me again.” Again, he laughs. A sound that seems to be growing on me. Maybe I’m a funny person to him, better yet, just a fool.

“Samrael, and If you let slipped your name in your ramblings I did not catch it.”

“Jode, and before you say anything, yes, it is an acronym.”

**Author's Note:**

> This book needs a better fandom, and i'm willing to be that fandom


End file.
